


Crumbling at 46 bpm

by swallowthewhale



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Gen, Gun Violence, glee 4x18
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2013-04-13
Packaged: 2017-12-08 08:18:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/759181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swallowthewhale/pseuds/swallowthewhale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>terror feels the same whether it's a faceless shooter in the halls of your school or three boys armed with ugly words and a baseball bat</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crumbling at 46 bpm

**Author's Note:**

> a reaction to Glee 4.18: Shooting Star  
> tw: shooting

It's not the same. Rationally, he knows that. But terror feels the same whether it's a faceless shooter in the halls of your school or three boys armed with ugly words and a baseball bat. Mr. Schue said to text and tweet, but Blaine can't grip his phone steadily enough to text, and his mind is already on a constant loop of "it's too loud, they'll hear us, it's too loud." He's not even sure that he'd manage to get any words out if he did call someone. (Later he’ll be furious that Mr. Schue went against lockdown policy and told them to do something so dangerous as make extra noise with their phones.) 

When he closes his eyes, his mind provides him with cold pavement and blood and a sharp pain in his ribs. He tries to think of other things. The movie he saw with his mom last weekend, Cooper's latest audition, Kurt's laugh over Skype while he recounted some ridiculous story about his classmates, his and Sam's latest superhero scheme, lunch with Tina at the mall. It helps, but it doesn’t eliminate the thought of Tina and Brittany out there on their own, of his parents and Coop and Kurt not knowing what’s happening, of the fear shredding his stomach apart with each tick of the metronome in the middle of the choir room floor. 

When Sam makes for the door a second time, he buries his head in his arms and shakes. _Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up._ When the phone goes off, somewhere among the abandoned backpacks, he stares wide-eyed at Ryder and tries to say “turn it off, please” but the words don’t come out. He ignores Artie’s attempts at a video, too shaken, too numb, too terrified to even think of anything to say. Too scared of falling apart in a room where he’s always felt so strong. 

He wants his parents, he wants Kurt, he wants Tina. He wants someone to hold him. He wants to go home and curl up in his bed with Margaret Thatcher Dog and cry. He wants to rewind time and stop this all from happening. He wants it to just be over. He wants to be anywhere but here, pacing the beat of his heart to the steady click of the metronome. He wants to stop the damn metronome. 

The all clear doesn’t calm his pulse or steady his hands. His mouth is still dry and his tongue heavy and he’s sure there are marks on his elbows from where his fingers were gripping. He clutches to Sam and hugs Kitty and Brittany, and then finally types a number into his phone with unsteady hands. 

“Hey, mom.”


End file.
